


Please, Remember Me Fondly

by AkaB (UrbanCuntemporary)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season 3, death talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 12:00:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrbanCuntemporary/pseuds/AkaB
Summary: “Do you know how Fr-...how Mom felt? When she got sick?”She says it softly enough that it shouldn’t startle him. But Wally’s breathing still does this weird hiccup thing that makes him suck half a fry down his throat without chewing it and there’s a split second that feels like forever where he thinks he’s really about to choke to death in a diner at 3 am before his airways clear again. He grunts, clearing his throat; Iris stares at him, unaware of his near-death experience.





	Please, Remember Me Fondly

God. He wishes Iris would stop staring at him. He thinks it might sound rude if he tells her so. He tries to avoid being rude to Iris, if he can help it. 

Wally shoves a handful of fries into his mouth and tries harder to pretend he doesn’t notice.

And he hopes she won’t notice.

“Wally.”

That tone. Shit, here we go.

He drags his eyes from his plate to Iris, whose stirring a fry absently in her milkshake like she’s forgotten she’d ever planned to eat it. “Hmm?” he tries for nonchalant, the only sound he can make around his mouthful.

Iris tilts her head at him, and that look--jeez. He’s only known Iris a year but that look he’s known his whole life. That look is “no I wasn’t outside” with mud on his shoes. It’s cussing loud on the playground and not seeing her car pull up, it’s “I didn’t eat that cake” with crumbs on his mouth.

It’s his mom, that look. Her eyes, her nose, her attitude. And Iris has thrown it at him enough that he supposes it’s her look, too, but.

But sometimes he looks at Iris and wants to cry.

He doesn’t, though. Just sucks down a gulp of his chocolate shake--too fast, even for him-- and ducks his head back down into his food.

Iris kicks him under the table. It’s meant to be playful, he knows, just to get his attention. But it kind of fucking hurts. Wally’s learned in a year’s time that Iris doesn’t seem to have a grasp of how hard she hits. He doesn’t call her on it, just smoothes his ankle against his shin to soothe it.

“You know we usually do this so we can talk…”Iris goads, trying for a smile but not quite getting there. “I could have just sat by myself at home if I knew you were gonna be this dead.”

It’s stupid to wince at her word choice but he kind of does. “It's 3 in the morning. What do you wanna talk about?”

 _How’s school? Working on anything interesting? You sure about this long-distance thing with Jesse?_ The usual, that’s probably next.

“Do you know how Fr-...how Mom felt? When she got sick?”

She says it softly enough that it shouldn’t startle him. But Wally’s breathing still does this weird hiccup thing that makes him suck half a fry down his throat without chewing it and there’s a split second that feels like forever where he thinks he’s really about to choke to death in a diner at 3 am before his airways clear again. He grunts, clearing his throat; Iris stares at him, unaware of his near-death experience.

“W-what?”

  
“Well, I just…” Iris looks down, the first sign of uncertainty from her this whole time, and Wally realizes she’s been working herself up to ask this the entire time. Which bothers him. “I was curious-”

“Why?”

Iris frowns. “‘W...why?’”

“Yeah, why. You don’t really ask about her.”

“Well, I’m asking now.”

“But why?”

“Because she was my mother. Do I really need a reason? What’s with you?”

“Nothing’s with me, I’m just wondering why you all of a sudden want to know about our mom. Why you want to know _this_ about our mom. I mean you’ve had a year to ask, why now?”

“I didn’t want to ask right after it happened,” she says, “with what you were going through-”

“But now it’s right?” Wally bites, the backs of his eyes burning, all the while he’s trying to narrow down exactly why the hell he’s so pissed. “You think right now is the time to ask?”

Oh, right. Maybe it’s the way Iris looks at him, at Barry, at Joe, the team. With that fleeting smile she thinks nobody ever sees. She nods at every new plan resolutely. _It’s worth a shot_ , the nod says, a consolation prize because she seems to know the outcome will always be the same. Maybe it’s the way she hugs him so much now, hello, goodbye. Between hello and goodbye. And he doesn’t have room to feign annoyance at the affection like a little brother is supposed to because that little smile she gives him every time tells him she’s trying to get as much as possible before…

“You want to know how she handled knowing she was going to die? Is that it?”

His voice makes a little echo in the small diner. Aside from the two of them there’s the cook, a waitress and a drunk guy three booths over, all too tired or too wasted to pay attention to what's turning into an argument.

Iris’s lips thin, eyes flashing. He’s found that she hates making a scene no matter how few people are there to witness it.

Her response is steel calm. “And?” she challenges.

Wally crosses his arms, “And I’m not gonna tell you.”

Iris groans, exasperated, "Oh grow  _up_ , Wally. You guys aren’t making this easy.”

“What this ‘giving up’ schtick you’ve got goin on? Yeah, um, why the hell would we?”

“It’s not about _giving up_ , Wally!” Her voice starts to rise, an edge to it just this side of breaking. But she catches herself. “It’s about being realistic.”

Iris draws a breath, and Wally pretends he doesn’t hear the way it shakes. The silence stretches, and she turns her face to the window. Wally looks, too, because why not? The glow from the diner’s neon sign only reaches as far as the parking lot, and the only thing of interest there is a plastic Thank You bag.

“Were you like this when it was her?”

Wally’s jaw clenches, releases. He watches the bag roll and weave beneath Iris’s car. “Probably a little worse. You know, I was a criminal at the time.”

Iris lets out an amused breath from her nose. "You weren't a _criminal_ , Knieval you just did some stupid illegal shit now and again."

"Gee," he says wryly. But he swallows. 

“I was so pissed at her for not fighting,” he says. The bag is caught on one of Iris’s rear wheels. “I wanted her to fight. Whatever experiments, whatever trials. Told her not to worry about the bills, that I’d take care of ‘em. I would have raced a million races, would have won ‘em all.” He wipes his cheek on the shoulder of his jacket. “But she just….” he shakes his head. “It pissed me off.”

“She made her peace with whatever would happen,” Iris defends quietly, “she didn’t want you to sacrifice everything. And in the end, she made amends with the people who mattered the most to her.”

He can hear it, the way her voice begins to thicken, and he pulls his gaze bag fluttering against Iris’s tires to look at her. Her eyes are shining, but there are already tear tracks down to her chin.

“I remember when she died, Wally--and I know,” she adds, seeing him grimace, “I know this is hard for you but I remember she was so peaceful...Do you remember that? She wasn’t afraid to go.” She swallows, hard, but her voice still shakes when she says, “I don’t wanna be afraid to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Wally’s throat catches but his tone is still as sure as he’s aiming for. Because this is different. It’s not like with his mom and he tells himself every day. _This is different this is different this is different this is diff_ \- “You’re not going anywhere.”

She looks at him hard, dark eyes flashing something like resignation. Which Wally hates, hates that he put it there, how lonely she must feel being the only one who’s willing to prepare for the worst-case scenario. But this is different, he knows. Iris sighs, “You’re really not gonna tell me about her?”

Wally purses his lips, because he _hates_ that look, considers just telling her. Because he _hates_. _That look_.

“Nah.” He takes a slurp from his milkshake. It’s soupy at this point, and goes down like a regular drink.

Iris sits back, face to the window again. Wally kicks her leg under the table and she turns.

“Ask me on May 24th?” he says with a wry smile. It’s a peace offering, an olive branch, an attempt at hope and lightness as if they hadn’t been taking turns crying and yelling for the past half hour.

She gives a smile back. Small, but genuine. “Yeah?”

Wally nods, and casts a glance out toward the parking lot. The Thank You bag is gone. “Yeah,” he says.

_This is different._

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway this takes place toward the end of season 3. I'd written something like this before but I took too long to write it and it got deleted from my drafts on here. But I think I like this one better anyway. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also I know first hand that late night talks with a sibling goes through so many stages and I did my best to write that here.


End file.
